The Death Trade Read Online Free Page A

Moon” while Maggie Hall was laying a table for dinner.
    â€œDon’t exaggerate, Sara,” he said. “I play acceptable barroom piano, that’s all.”
    â€œDon’t you be stupid,” Maggie Hall said. “You’re better than that and you know it, so why pretend?”
    She moved off to the kitchen. Dillon said, “There you go, she should be my agent. What would you like?”
    â€œWhat about ‘A Foggy Day in London Town’?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    He started to play, and she listened and said, “Could you up the tempo?”
    He did, attacking it hard, and she started to sing, surfing the rhythm, her voice lifting, and Maggie Hall emerged from the kitchen and stood there, staring. The music soared and came to an end. Maggie clapped vigorously and called, “Right on.”
    Dillon was astonished. “Where the hell did that come from?”
    â€œI learned to play guitar at twelve and I loved singing, but just for me. I don’t advertise.”
    â€œWell, you should. Any cocktail bar I’ve ever been in would snap you up.”
    Clapping broke out from behind, Sara turned and found the Salters standing in the doorway.
    â€œMarvelous,” Harry Salter said. “I’d give you a booking any time for my restaurant.”
    â€œHarry’s Place, Sara,” Billy told her. “You haven’t been yet, very classy. We’ll take you.”
    â€œSome other time.” Ferguson appeared behind them. “But not now. There’s work to be done. Back to Roper, if you please.”
    â€”
    F or half an hour, Roper ran a compilation of film featuring Simon Husseini, mostly garnered from news reports. It finished, and Ferguson said, “Well, there you are. That’s our man.”
    â€œLooks a decent enough chap to me,” Billy observed.
    Harry said, “Do I take it we can be certain he’s not out to blow up the bleeding world, then?”
    â€œHe’s a decent man who’s in a very bad situation and doesn’t know what to do about it.”
    â€œThe way I see it, there’s not much he can do,” Dillon said.
    â€œI’ve got film of an Élysée Palace ceremony coming up,” Roper said. “Just for information.”
    They saw a place crowded with people, many of them in uniform or ecclesiastical wear, palace guards in full uniform, a glittering scene, sparkling chandeliers. People who were to be decorated sat near the front and went forward in turn for the President of France to pin on the insignia of the Legion of Honor or whatever. Finally, Roper switched off.
    â€œSo there you are,” Ferguson said. “What do you think?”
    â€œAn awful lot of people,” Sara said. “Difficult to make contact with our man.”
    â€œOr perhaps the crowded situation would make it easier. There’s a buffet, champagne. It would depend on how long you wanted to be in contact with him. Perhaps a few snatched moments is all you could expect.”
    That was Ferguson, and Dillon said, “There might be an opportunity at the hotel. We’ll just have to see.”
    â€œPerhaps Duval could be useful there,” Ferguson said.
    â€œHe’s a sly fox, that one.” Dillon grinned. “So he may have a useful idea or two. How are we going to Paris?”
    â€œThe Gulfstream from Farley Field. My asset is at the Ritz, an aging waiter named Henri Laval. He knows the hotel backward. Can be very useful. You’ll be given his mobile number.”
    â€œWell, if his help would lead us to a meeting of some sort with Husseini, it will be more than welcome.”
    â€œExcellent,” Ferguson said. “Now we’ll eat and I’ll tell you what else I’m planning for the future.”
    â€”
    M aggie Hall had excelled herself. Onion soup, poached salmon, Jersey new potatoes and salad, a choice of cheese or strawberries, backed up by Laurent-Perrier